March 8th is a nationally recognized holiday, although readers of this magazine may not be aware of it. International Woman's Day started 145 years ago, on March 8, 1857, and in 1975, was recognized as a national holiday by the United Nations. The day itself serves as recognition for all the struggles women have endured in order to get to the place they are today. It's a day wherein women celebrate not only their stature as a force equal to men, but also their own personal growth as an estrogen producing element of the population.

International Woman's Day has been celebrated in many different ways, but I'd bet not too often in men's literary publications. So why am I choosing to use my position to editorialize and further propagate celebration of this day in a demographic where I should only be blabbering about men's issues? Well, out of all those ways in which females out there choose to recognize their own growth as women, my own personal celebration is something worth the awareness of all you men out there. My own personal celebration of this day, does indeed, have everything to do with you.

I can be accused at having been taken under its spell. That spell which at one time or another finds us (meaning women) sitting cross-legged around our overly-zealous feminist campfire, roasting the certified "pig of the month". Yes, by "pig", I mean you. Yes, you! You're a man, right? So what if it wasn't you personally who slept with my friend Tiffany, all the while proclaiming your undying love for my friend Kate. You WILL be swept into the all encompassing "Scum of the Earth" club just because you were born into this world carrying two balls and a bat, and because as a woman, I feel I have the right to feed you a little of your own bad-tasting medicine.

I have indeed found at times in my life, most notably after being dumped, or disappointed highly by one of the said "pigs" I refer to above, that I easily conform to all of those rules one must pledge oath to when joining the "I Hate Men" club. I mean it's easy enough to do. There's an ever-steady growth in its membership population, it gives me an avid and supportive audience to grieve, and most importantly, it leaves me free from thoughts that I'm being a discriminatory fool.

Yes, I could burn my bra. You'd like that wouldn't you? I could march about wielding my radical feminist flag, shouting that men are the cause of all my womanly grievances. While speaking of feminism, let me clarify that I believe all people in their right minds to be feminists. Put the word radical in front of it, and I then move more to that side which still blames the men of today for not letting us vote in the days of our great, great, grandfathers. Yes, this means I'd probably still hold a grudge toward dear old great, great, grandpa too. He was a man, wasn't he?

The most wonderful definition of feminism I've yet heard, truly puts into perspective the fact that both men and woman should feel very proud to wear the feminist label. Feminism is merely the radical notion of women as people. It's all the anti-men stuff out there that has clouded the truly important message. We should all be women's libbers! We should all proclaim feminism as an easily digestible addition to our personal belief system. We should also stop blaming men for every misfortune that begets our lives.

So I, being the man-loving woman that I'm "trying" to be, have moved to a different sort of roast in front of the campfire. This year's celebration of International Woman's Day finds me for the first time in my life, recognizing how all the men in mine, have made a lasting impact and impression on my overall persona as a woman. The way in which all you sheep disguised in pigs clothing out there, have turned me into the culturally aware, utterly well rounded woman that I am.

I have been hockey enthusiast, drama geek, sign language speaker, garage band groupie, hippie chick artist, film junkie, philosophically minded thinker, and culturally sensitive lover of all humanity, but not by my own making. Sure, I absorbed a little through my own undertaking, through study, and through my upbringing, but the most impressionable relationships I (and I'd argue to say most of us out there) have had, or will ever have, were those of the male/female romantic variety. We let these "other halves" (as we call them in moments of in-lovedom) into our hearts, heads, bedrooms, and most importantly, into the deeply rooted concaves of our personal lives. When we're in a relationship, whether we're aware of its happening or not, we have a way of conforming to -- or at least appreciating -- the extracurricular activities, mindsets, and other pervasive elements of our loved one's life.

Following break-ups, especially those which would likely find us throwing stakes at the evil one who ravished us, then threw us away without a second thought, we have a tendency to focus more on the loss itself than on the fortunes we received for having let this person into our lives in the first place. Through the men in my life, I've learned tolerance, patience, respect, moderation, selflessness, and love. These are traits that I perhaps wouldn't have been so in tune to if it hadn't been for the expression of them by the men in my life. I'll admit that it hasn't been all good. Of course, there will also be those people in our lives that teach us things through their selfishness and domineering personalities. People who will teach us that love does not come by means of a fisted hand, that violence only serves to fuel the fire, and that addictive substances have the power to consume, dominate, and completely change a person. You see, even through the bad, I've learned great lessons. Only now have I come to understand that by blaming those people, I gave them the upper hand.

So on International Woman's Day, I'm going to celebrate men, and all they've brought to my life. A strong easel may have supported my canvas in the first place, but those whom I have held most dear over the years, have added greatly to coloring and beautifying its landscape. Perhaps by learning to appreciate what I've gained from them, I've in turn found the key to surviving those loses in my life. So rather than standing at the picket line alongside those radical man-haters out there, crying over what I haven't become due to them, I'll choose to celebrate what I am as a woman, because of men.